One Last Time
by yelliandewan
Summary: Maybe it was the Opera she missed, she never had a chance to say her good bye. What if she could pay it one final visit? Just once, before she left for good.


**A/N: Well, I've had a few attempts, but this technically my first "phan fiction". Leroux-based, told in third person from Christine's POV. One-shot, generic.**

She could only hope those were the last drops of rain now on her windowsill. How long had it been going on for? Who could tell, these days it was impossible to keep track of time.

She spent days in bed, sleeping when she wanted to regardless of whether it was day or night. Occasionally she would get up, just for the sake of walking. Some small talk would happen, of the wedding, of what they should do after it, but never of the events that happened beforehand, and even more of _his _death. But still, she hadn't stepped outside the house since it all happened.

Perhaps it was time. She had no reason to hide from anyone-she was engaged to the man she loved, this time it wasn't a game. There was nothing depressing about that. But even with that to look forward to, she still felt as empty as she had the past few days. Maybe it was the Opera she missed, she never had a chance to say her good bye. What if she could pay it one final visit? Just once, before she left for good.

She didn't want to talk about it; she just headed for the door. Raoul was sitting nearby, and it was hard for him to not have noticed her.

"Christine!"

She stopped, "I'm going out for some air, I should be back soon," she couldn't tell him where she was really going, but he still seemed unsure, "there's nothing to worry about, Raoul," she told him, and kissed him on the forehead before she left.

She hadn't been looking back on anything lately, and now, she realized, not a fortnight ago, she had kissed Erik in that same way she had just kissed Raoul. She hadn't deemed it possible, yet the mere memory of it was something that still brought the slightest smile to her face. No one was sure what to make of it, especially not her. They were just kisses-nothing more.

She ordered for a cab, but seemed to regret it immediately. She was not used to the peoples' company. It seemed everyone knew who she was now. She never knew of what they spoke of her-whether it was good or bad-she just knew that they did speak. She reconsidered it, she could go back home now, no one was forcing her to do this, no one but herself. But she stopped-this was for her own good. She needn't talk to anyone, she could just ignore them, and by then they had arrived she felt a little more confident-or at least as confident as she could feel.

She took a deep breath, maybe she wasn't as confident as she thought but she couldn't return now-she wouldn't let herself do so, she had always been told it was better to regret something you've done than something you haven't.

The place looked just like it always had looked. No one came to greet her, though her presence couldn't be more obvious. Two ballet rats walked by, gave her a stare, whispered her name, and walked on.

She sighed; she never enjoyed being the center of attention, although it was always thought otherwise…

"That Daaé girl, she just wants the spotlight…"

"Everything's always about Christine…"

She knew otherwise, but she never corrected anyone about it, she just went on pretending she hadn't heard anything.

She stopped; here she was at her dressing room. She reached for the door and to her surprise it was open. It was untouched, not a thing had changed since she was last in it. The white mask she wore at the masked ball was still on the desk sitting next to her stationary. The mirror was still there and she feared getting too close to it. But it was time to move on, she couldn't spend the time dwelling in there, so she took the mask, shut the door and continued.

What was there left to do? She came here for the purpose of saying good bye, and now every step she took made her insecurity worse and worse. She had nothing to fear-she had just told this to Raoul, but why was it that she found it hard to believe herself?

She walked across the stage. She remembered how she loved to come by herself, the sound of her shoes on the wood. Now it only reminded her of the emptiness. She tried to sing, but nothing came. Maybe, she thought before stopping herself- no-he was never her Angel of Music. Even there was an Angel of Music, it was not him. It was the voice which entranced her, the one that manipulated to her-anything that voice had said she would have believed. After all, how could one ignore such a beautiful voice? And yet the effect it had done on her-how could something so sweet be so dangerous?

She needn't think about that-she could ponder it all her life if she wanted to, but she chose not to. There was one more place she wanted to visit before she left for good. She climbed up the steep staircase, the one she was always told was not fit for a lady to climb, all the way up until she reached the rooftop, looking out to all of Paris. She came up here with Raoul on that night, the one time when she told him everything. But that was not the only time, when she was younger she would come up here whenever she needed piece and quiet, the wind would blow in her hair and she could just sit and think. If there was one part of the Opera which was closest to the Heavens, it was here. She looked towards the statue of Apollo's Lyre.

Maybe one day, many years from now she could look back on everything that had happened and smile-it might be too much to handle now, but she was young. It wasn't something she could ever forget with time-it was as strong as the memory of her late father. But now, there was nowhere to go but forward, so she set her mask by the statue and made her way back.


End file.
